Kelsie drove until darkness encompassed everything around her. Checking the map in the dashboard's lights, she noticed a campsite not far ahead, a perfect place to stay tonight.

Turning onto the dirt road, she hoped it wasn't far ahead. She was hot, tired and hungry. The setting of the sun didn't lower the temperature. A chain indicating the entrance glittered in the headlights. Kelsie slowed to a stop and waited while the lanky teenager with a clipboard made his way toward the car.

"Hey, hey," he chimed, "fill this in, and the entry fee for the night is twenty bucks."

"What if I want to stay a few days?" Kelsie asked, filling out the sheet.

"You can chat to the owner in the morning for that," he smiled, "or if you decide to leave, make sure it's before two in the afternoon."

"Thanks so much," Kelsie smiled, handing him the clipboard and money, "where can I park?"

"Halfway up the hill," he indicated the direction. "There is an open lot you can use; punch the code into the utility's management system, and you'll be good for tonight."

"Thanks again," Kelsie nodded, moving through the entrance. Parking, she looked around the area before stepping out of the vehicle, "doubt I will be spending more time here than I need to."

Set up was quick, and soon hot water sluiced away the day's dust. Fresh clothes and a quick meal brought a smile as she doused the lights and crawled into bed. Silence filled the spaces around her, bringing a strange sense of peace. She was running for her life with unethical people following her every move, and she was parked in a camper snuggling in for the night, feeling at peace. Common sense said she should be planning her next step or ten, keeping herself ahead of those hired to exterminate her life. A more logical side pointed out that if she was tired and not totally on her game, she would make a mistake and be too tired to hear her intuition and gut speak. Conceding that both sides of her brain had a point, she fell asleep tucked between two large mobile homes. No one knew what she was driving or her license plate, and everywhere she went, she gave a false number and name. No one knew where she was or what moves she was making.

"Just have to stay alive until I get to Jezebel's House," she whispered.

Exhaustion rose from the box she had shoved it into hours before, quickly pulling her into its peaceful depths of oblivion.

"Any news Zander?" Snyder spoke over the speaker on Zander's phone, "we need to contain her quickly."

"I've stopped at every town, roadside dinner, and Guest House," Zander said, "no one has seen her or anyone new."

"She cannot have disappeared," Snyder grunted, "flash a badge if you have to."

"You're thinking I went the way she came," Zander scoffed, "I decided to take the way she was headed. Badges will do us no good in that direction."

"Damn," Snyder said, "what do we do now?"

"There is a roadside guest house coming up," Zander said, "it's been a long day. I'll shack up there and start again in the morning."

"Fair enough," Snyder said, "let me know what you find."

"Talk again when I have more to report," Zander said, cancelling the call.

"Where did you go?" he muttered absently, pulling the battery from his phone.

The file stated Kelsie had some training in off the grid survival, but he had no idea what that entailed. Was she part of the military or intelligence community? Had she been exposed to that kind of lifestyle and knew more than the in house training stated? There were too many variables when it came to where this woman could be or where she was going.

"Something smells rotten in this case," he sighed, "I'm not pulling a trigger until I have answered all my questions, and that list is growing."

Pulling into a roadside guest house parking, he waited a moment before leaving his vehicle; he did not sense anyone following him or watching him. Why did he feel his office knew precisely where he was even with the phone and vehicle's GPS turned off. He didn't trust anyone he worked with, and he could sense that the feeling was mutual. Taking his luggage from the car, he entered the building to find a room for the night.

"Evening," a young, well-dressed gentleman said from behind an old, solid wooden reception desk, "how can I help you?"

"Do you have any rooms open for the night?" he asked.

The young gentleman seemed nervous and edgy, "We do but only on the ground floor. Would that be okay?"

"Nothing on the first?" Zander asked, glancing around casually.

"Strange," the young man said, checking the computer, "you're the second man who has asked that tonight."

"Someone else prefers the first floor, hey," Zander said, the uneasy feeling he had been feeling for an hour or so increasing. "Did he carry similar luggage to what I have?"

The young man glanced up the stairs behind the desk before pointing to his left, "His room is on that side of the house."

Zander took in the direction indicated, "Anything on the ground floor in the opposite direction?"

"I believe so," the young man cleared his throat, "let me get your key."

Zander waited while the young man pulled a key from a tiny wooden pigeonhole and returned to the desk.

"Please fill this in while I get someone to help you with your luggage," the young man pushed a piece of paper across the top of the reception desk, "unless you'd rather drop this off when you leave."

"Would that be possible?" Zander whispered.

"Certainly," the young man said, "let me show you the way."

Picking up his luggage, Zander made to follow, pausing as he caught a scent of something wafting from the stairwell. Looking up, he met the cold stare of a fellow assassin. Nodding in acknowledgement, he left the reception area.

"Here we are," the young man said, opening the door to a roomy bedroom and open plan bathroom, "let me show you around."

Zander moved in front of him, turning to tell him it wouldn't be necessary, only to find a finger on the young man's lips. "This is the bedroom area, as you can see, and a full bathroom with toiletries."

Zander frowned. What was going on?

The young man continued to show off the suite while writing something on a pad of paper showing Zander.

"The man upstairs is here for you. I'm not to tell you anything, but there is a back exit one door down. It leads to the parking lot, and use my car."

He pulled a set of car keys out, handing them to Zander.

"Is there anything else you require?" the young man asked.

"No, thank you," Zander said, taking the keys, "oh, what time is breakfast?"

"From seven to ten in the morning," the young man said, "enjoy your stay."

The room door opened and closed. The suspicions were confirmed. They were tracking him, but how? If he had only uncovered it, how did the desk clerk know?

Locking the door and checking the windows, Zander showered, eating something from his rations pack and making the bed look like he was sleeping under the covers. Pulling the day bed into the dark corner, Zander prepared his hand weapon, switched off the lights, and prepared for whatever was coming his way tonight. Questions raced through his mind.

Who had taken the hit out on him?

Why was there a hit out on him?

Was it in connection with this job?

Zander sighed; the one question that haunted his mind continuously rose from the frozen depths of his heart.

What would his father say?

The quest to find his father continued; memories rose as he whispered, "Where are you now?"

A noise outside his window alerted him to an intruder. Slowly wrapping his hand around the butt of his weapon, he waited. The window silently slid open, a leg swung into view, and a body followed by the scent Zander had smelt from the staircase. The Assassin hadn't waited long to get to work.

Careless and in a hurry.

The glint of a knife glittered in the light from the parking area; quick work was made of the bedding and pillows. A sound of frustration came to Zander's ears, and the Assassin turned, looking around the room.

"A pity about the bedding," Zander said, raising his weapon, "I hoped to get some sleep tonight."

The Assasin pulled a weapon with a long silencer, aiming at Zander, "You will sleep long and well now, Zander."

Zander fired, and the Assasin dropped to one knee, "Who sent you?"

"You'll never know," the man grunted, raising his weapon again.

Zander fired again, and the weapon fell to the floor, "I'm not asking again."

"Snyder," the man gasped, "he says you're hedging and are a traitor to the operation."

"That is good to know," Zander said, standing and walking toward him, "unlike you, I like to know why I'm terminating someone."

"The file gives the reason," the man said, "you know that."

"It doesn't make sense to send Assassins after someone who stole sensitive information," Zander said, "I want to know the truth."

"It will get you killed," the man said, glancing at the window.

Zander turned to see someone standing at the window with a gun raised. Adrenaline pulsed through him as the muzzled flashed. Ducking, Zander felt the bullet's heat flying past him. Returning fire Zander used the shadows as cover and waited; from the window, a grunt, a groan and a gasp were heard before a shot was fired, then silence. Easing out of the shadows, Zander moved into the room.

"What the heck was that?" he muttered, checking both men. They were lifeless and motionless, "yeah, you two are dead. Things are not adding up. Out ... I need to get out."

He had to move. Someone would have heard something despite their precautions. Picking up the car keys, he moved toward his gear. Staring at his bag, sudden clarity hit him.

How did they know his exact room?

Quickly emptying everything, he found the tracking devices in the lining of his backpack and rifle case.

What was going on?

Why was he a target?

Asking questions had always been something he did; it was nothing new. Unless questions would expose the truth and the client, whoever that was, didn't want the truth to be known. At all.

Pulling his laptop from its bag, he wiped it down. Everything else would stay behind. The door to the parking area was easy to find. Keeping to the shadows, he made sure he was not followed. The smell of cigarettes drew him to a place where the young man from the reception area stood smoking, leaning against an old classic.

"You heard that?" Zander asked, stopping short of the vehicle.

"Some," the young man said, "mainly the groaning and gasping but moving would be good. I can take care of the mess. Oh, your ride is ready, and there are weapons and clothes in the back."

"Who are you?" Zander asked with narrowed eyes.

"I cannot tell you, but I can say," he pushed away from the car stepping on the cigarette stub, "Fides et veritas."

"What?" Zander felt shock slice through him, "loyalty and truth."

It had been years since he had heard it said that way, but now was not the time for memory lane. He had to leave before others arrived.

"Who are you?" he called after the young man.

"Someone who has your back," drifted back to him in the darkness.

Sliding in behind the wheel, Zander turned the key to hear the gentle roar of the engine, "Oh man, this is going to be one of the best rides of my life. Back on the road for me, and the search continues."

Zander pulled out of the parking area, taking the back exit to the main road. Tomorrow would be a long day, one he didn't know he wanted to take on.

"Truth and loyalty," he muttered, "no, it's impossible."